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TRANSITUS IN LUCEM 



AND OTHER VERSES IN MEMORY OF OR BY 



LOUISE BEECHER CHANCELLOR 




1910 

NORWALK, CONNECTICUT 

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Copyrig-ht, 1910, by 
William Estabrook Chancellor, Trustee. 






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Born, New York. N. Y., September 27th, 1871 
Died, Washington, D. C. August 16th, 1908 



Lyman Beecher 
m. Roxana Foote 

Edward Beecher 

m. Isabella Porter Jones 

Eugene Francis Beecher 
wi. Susan Wood Hiscox 

Louise Isabel Beecher 

m. William Estabrook Chancellor 
Marie Louise Beecher Chancellor 
Susan Beecher Chancellor 
Catherine Beecher Chancellor 
Isabel Beecher Chancellor 
David Beecher Chancellor 



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'Jjj AM the faith of little lives 

That make my thoughts their own. 
The spoken word, perhaps half heard, 

Rests not with me alone 
But into circles widening ever shall have grown. 

I am the joy of little hearts. 

And who more proud should be? 
They love to rest upon my breast 

And stand beside my Imee : 
Like cherubs of the masters old, they turn their eyes to me. 

I am the hope of little souls, 

And who should be more brave? 
From reefs ahead that all hearts dread 

The mother-love must save ; 
For else my little ones may sink beneath life's stormy wave. 

L. B. C. 

Palerson, N.J. 
1905 



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The Players of London: A Tale of Elizabethan 
Days(N.Y. 1909) 

Contributor to Life, The Outlook^ and various other 
magazines 

Autljor anb ilUuatratnr: 

Easy Paths to Literature (N. Y. 1 902) 

Arttat: 

A Leaning Tower in Venice 

Across the Lagoon 

The Bay of Naples 

A Florentine Peasant 

The Old Wharf at Narragansett Pier 

Various portraits 



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(Before Good and Evil) 

^THERE once was a beautiful garden, 

And there was a man within. 
There once was a perfect woman. 
And they knew naught of sin. 

And there were flowers and sunshine 

That sparkled on hill and plain; 
But how could they know the sunshine 

Before they had felt the rain? 

There they were blessed and honored 

*Bove all the later race ; 
But what could they know of honor 

Before they had felt disgrace? 

How could they know they were happy 

Before they had drunk of woe? 
How could he know she was perfect 

When everything else was so? 

Their life was but partly living. 

All other things above, 
Before they had suffered together 

What could they know of love? 

Louise Isabel Beechei 
T889 
Reprmted from " The Christian Union '* (" The Outlook ") by permission. 



I^IJORLD-WORN and weary, I laid me voiceless down, 
Intent this sick and troubled sense of mine 
To lose in Lethe*s flowing tide benign. 

I hoped in sleep my anguished self to drown 

In sleep eternal, — or that the deathful crown 
Of Angel Israfel might coldly twine 
My forehead with its cheerless ivy- vine ! 

In this despair at fortune's darkest frown 

Was sent a messenger from Paradise, 

A vision sweet and glorious to mine eyes, 

Bright-winged, peace-bringing to my woeful strife. 

Oh, dream, so real wert thou as makes it seem 

That thy brief gleam of happiness was life. 

And this my waking sorrow was the dream ! 

Louise Isabel Beecher 
New York, 1889 



^Pase ^ix 



?|"HERE*S molten gold upon the water's breast 
And crimson tides flood all the evening sky 
Save where the purple clouds are floating by 

Against the vivid glory of the west. 

And yet, not here my tired eyes would rest! 
Oh, say we are together, thou and I, 
Since wheresoe'er thou art my swift thoughts fly 

Like doves from far, returning to their nest. 

The cool night wind now soothes the fevered shore; 
In rhythmic beat, the tireless waters roll 
And speak strong songful patience to the soul. 

If, love, thy spirit should be faint and sore, 

I pray thee take from me where'er thou art. 
The beauty of this night to fill thy heart. 

Louise Isabel BeecKer 
New York, 1891 



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®tf0 EmhBB pigrm 

^t JHY struggle onward now the light has gone ? 
Poor Pilgrim, art thou not in need of rest? 
The sun has set behind the glowing west. 

Why journey further ere the morning dawn? 

The Pilgrim*s mien was pitiably forlorn, 

And strange was his reply, in tones repressed. 
Although his questioning words my heart distressed, — 

"Do I seem old to thee and weak and worn? 

"To some, I am an angel, robed in light. 

False is thy sight. The martyr's latest breath 
Has called me beautiful and strong and bright. 
No need of rest have I, for heavenly might 
Is mine. Oh, trembler, hear my name aright 

Who comes to thee unwelcomed: I am Death." 

Louise Isabel Beecher 
New York, 1891 



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al|r HoBt Mmxt 

3l soul was sent to earth one day 

To bear a song from heaven; 
But towered high the lonely way 
Along a mountain huge and gray 
By gorge and torrent riven. 

The music faint and fainter thrilled 

The heart that hurried on 
To climb the heights as heaven willed 
When, lo, some sacred notes were spilled ! 

The mighty chord was gone! 

Oh, now, poor soul, how sad thy lot. 

To fight thy way along, 
Thy holy message half forgot! 
Through some sad fault thou knowest not, 

Thou singest half a song. 

One only hope is left for thee : 

Down on the plain below. 
Some spirit those fair notes may see 
And just to bring them back to thee 

Ascend the mountain now. 



Louise Isabel Beecher 
New York. 1891 



page Nine 



A^BtaB in Irte 

^JUNE at night in the city, June with the stars in the skies; 
But the glaring lights, they hide the stars. The moon, 
she fades and dies. 

Turn me away from the window, the while my eyelids close, 
And I wander afar in fancy to a garden I knew and a rose. 

Oh, the garden was flooded with moonlight and glowed 

with dewy pearls 
In the chalices of the lilies and upon my lady's curls. 

Heavy the air was with fragrance ; and sweet to the listen- 
ing ear 

Came the notes of birds in the silence whose wooing we 
paused to hear. 



L. B. C, 1900 
Bloomfield, N.J. 



^xtmB in llrte 



TTHEY are gone, the love and the rapture ; and my heart, 

unhappy, knows 
That again to the moonlighted casement comes not my girl 
with her rose. 

March at night in the city, March with clouds in the skies. 
And I dream of a snow-white hillside where my children's 
mother lies. 

W. E. C, 1910 

Norwalk, Conn. 



31|0 Bxttti (Ettti 

I. 
ffTHE bounty of us all conveys 

To her who giveth naught in fee 
The wealth that she in pride displays 

In picturing our primacy. 

II. 
Her lure is lure of fame and power. 

She seemeth virginal and sweet. 

Men come and go : she hath no dower. 

Her final guerdon is defeat. 

III. 
The hearts that still would dare be true 

Are silenced by her song of might 

And trampled by her retinue. 

Who know her best are most affright. 

IV. 

Within her stately, columned halls 

Work pallid throngs of public slaves. 
She holds them fast as voiceless thralls, 

Subdued and dead before their graves. 

V. 

Her soul distraught by ceaseless strife 
Recks only might, fears only ruth. 

False symbol of a people*s life, 

She thinks she hath concealed the truth. 



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VI. 

3IJEHOLD, of men, she maketh mock, 
And smileth, bridling in her pride, 
As on they come, her laughing-stock. 

Their whole-heart service to confide. 

VII. 

Some she subdues, and some exiles. 

And some she slays in wantonness. 

Unwearied and of many wiles, 
She orders us to acquiesce. 

VIII. 
Vainglorious city that betrays 

The faith by which this nation lives, 
The people know how false thy ways, — 

The traitor's crime God never forgives. 

IX. 
Oh, none may stay the tides of fate, 

And weakest of all are the lords of power. 
Count ye for naught your dike and gate! 
Right overthrows an age in an hour ! 

L. B. C. 

Washington, 1908 



Jbmf- Q&B^Uw- 



I. 

TTTHERE is a face I long to see, — 
A hand I long to hold, — 

A spirit sweet that watched by me 
With mother-love untold. 

II. 

There is a voice I long to hear, — 
A step I knew so well, — 

A tender heart to me so dear ; 
My loss I cannot tell. 

III. 
Alas, her letters are nearby, 

The things that she had worn. 
The little things she loved are nigh ; 

And how can she be gone? 

IV. 
Oh, gone to the beautiful far away 

Where all is sweet and fair; 
And I shall wait until one day 

When she will meet me there. 



Marie Louise Chancellor 

Norwalk, Ct. 

October, 1908 



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I. 



^ LONE with little ones, on her 
They fell in cautious massacre 
And drove a nursing mother to defeat 
In full midsummer's blazing heat, 
The lords of helots through deceit. 

II. 

In fiery dawn, tempest-driven, 

The loved one 'scaped from earth to heaven. 

From ever-thickening despairs. 

Out from a world that mainly stares. 

Out from its pains and toils and snares. 

III. 
From earth bereft by her sovereign. Death, 
The loved one passed in her faintest breath. 
Ah, sovereign Death, she vanquished you ! 
She lived so fair in every view. 
You lost your prize, whom she never knew! 

IV. 

From this sad realm of sense and sight. 
The loved one entered the lane of light. 
Ah, lane of light that leads away 
To the shining streets of the perfect day. 
You felt her step who had meant to stay ! 



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V. 

HROUGH cloud 



ffl^HROUGH clouds of witnesses unseen, 



The loved one moved in conquered pain. 
Ah, witnesses, beyond earth's day. 
You saw her soul, on her lonely way. 
Go on to Him to whom we pray! 

VI. 

Ah, life beyond this world of space 
And time and sense, whose viewless face 
Immortals know, lest she might err. 
Your angels, saints and heroes were 
An embassy that guarded her ! 

VII. 
From this poor earth, in her hour of fate. 
The loved one came to the starlit gate. 
Ah, starlit gate that shields the good 
In the timeless world of the Fatherhood, 
You opened wide to her quiet nod! 

VIII. 
From a world in which she had alway striven. 
The loved one passed to the court of heaven. 
Ah, court of heaven that shines afar 
In the golden light of the outmost star. 
You scarce knew how to welcome her! 



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®x*attBittta in Slur^m 
IX. 

HERE the farthest star swings round, 
Beyond this universe of sound, 
The gentle mother, silent, passed. 
Her tears were falling warm and fast. 
She thought herself the world's outcast ! 

X. 

To the temple of truth in God*s own sight. 
The loved one fared, of her saintly right. 
Ah, temple of truth, within thy clean. 
Transparent walls are all things seen, 
By Him who knows what all things mean! 

XI. 

On the final court of the grand assize. 
The loved one looked with fearless eyes. 
Ah, Judge, I knew her inmost soul ! 
She found in love creation s goal, 
Whose God is love, whose life is whole. 

XII. 
To the presence of Him who pitieth all. 
The loved one moved with light footfall. 
Ah, God, you made her ! Forever yours, 
To you she came by ethereal shores. 
For the only comfort that endures. 



^la^r &ixt»m 



SrattBttus in ^nttm 
XIII. 

/|AF you, she asked, in tones serene, — 

"I am thy child. What does this mean?** 
Ah, God, your answer is unknown on earth, — 
Nor how you measured her priceless worth ; 
It may yet be that death is birth. 

XIV. 
Into the realm of the larger life, 
The loved one went beyond the strife. 
Ah, lovely wife ; ah, mother forlorn, 
These cannot forget of whom they were born. 
But wait thy greeting to-morrow morn ! 

XV. 
Of the world called heaven in human fame, 
The blessed soul to the ramparts came. 
The mighty ether beyond her poured 
Its tides of force that is God*s word. 
She seemed to stand as one adored! 

XVI. 

With gentle limbs, she touched the rail 
That carries the temple's sheltering veil. 
The starlight gleamed in her brilliant hair. 
Her tearwet cheeks were ever so fair. 
And forth she leaned in the crystal air. 



pagf ^txtmUm 



XVII. 

/|^N her round breasts, her hands she crossed, 

In mourning for her children lost. 
Her bosom moved with every breath ; 
Her voice came soft, past her milk-white teeth. 
And these are the tender words she saith : 

XVIII. 
" Nor day nor night are you alone, 
I am your witness before the throne. 
The Just, the Merciful sitteth here; 
To me. He gives whom I hold dear 
For life eternal and sincere." 

XIX. 
Th' approving angels looked on her 
And smiled to see Love's harbinger 
From earth returned. She felt their praise 
But could not smile again nor raise 
From steadfast prayer her earnest eyes. 

XX. 

There, everlasting patience, strong 
As the universe it bears along, 
Uplifted her so tenderly. 
I know not where she journeys by 
The hidden paths of eternity. 



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®rattjattua in ^nttm 

XXI. 
Ji ONLY know a memory clear, 

Her voice yet soundeth in mine ear. 
Ah, God, I will not challenge Thee, 
Keep her forever who came to me. 
Revealing Thy sincerity. 

XXII. 
So pale, so still, so far, so lost. 
Not even the substance of a ghost! 
There is no answer unto prayer 
Save echo fainting on the air 
And courage struggling to upbear. 

XXIII. 
Dear one and dead : To thee is given 
New service to the King of Heaven. 
Ah, spirit, sweetly immortal now. 
The seal of Christ is on thy brow. 
But in this heart an ancient vow, 

XXIV. 

Ah, woman's soul, did God teach thee 
The perfect lesson of purity? 
Oh, brave; oh, true; oh, stolen away 
In the morning of earth's greater day, 
I follow! Lead! I will not stray. 



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SrattHttttB in fCurm 

XXV. 
HE stream of death flows in from the sea 
That floods and ebbs with eternity. 
Above its tide of mirrored light, 
The friendly stars of the infinite 
Come trembling forth upon my sight. 

XXVI. 
A link in the chain of human life 
Were thou and I, a man and wife. 
I linger yet ; thy children hear 
Above the falling of thy bier 
The echoes of thy accents clear. 

XXVII. 
I will not think 'twas all in vain, 
The universal mind is sane. 
Beyond infinities of space, 
I seek, for I will know thy face, 
I seek thy spirit's pure embrace. 

XXVIII. 
Like snow in the air, thy sighs float down. 
To me, the flakes are softly blown. 
Like flinty hail my tears descend, 
Yet snow and hail together blend. 
And mark the winter's passing trend. 



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QlrattBttuB in Slurpra 
XXIX. 

^ LL souls are from the flesh distilled. 

Ah, God, Thy heaven hast Thou filled 
By breaking hearts and rending homes! 
To us in trembling horror comes 
Thy ruthless messenger of dooms. 

XXX. 

Turn all creation round about. 

Turn earth and heaven inside out. 

Run backward time, make cause effect; — 

Still would she be my soul's elect, 

For so I think lest I be wrecked. 

XXXI. 

Oh, monstrous mocking world of strife 
Whose war of good and ill is life. 
That one should stay and one should go 
Appears the uttermost of woe 
Alike to both, for this I know! 

XXXII. 

Not yet have I seen my Maker God, — 
I've felt, I've fought His stinging rod. 
I've learned the right of His awful might, 
Endured the shock of His blinding light. 
And made such course as He gave me sight. 



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SlrattBttna in ^Lmtnx 

XXXIII. 
9i H, earth, our tale has yet to run 

Who saw the grace her youth had won. 
To each event of life, its cause ! 
The baffled mind of man must pause 
Before a universe of laws. 

XXXIV. 
Artificer of worlds and souls, 
I look on Thee whence each unrolls, 
I look and search: I judge Thee not. 
I take from Thee my portioned lot 
And pay Thee, Lord, my heriot. 

XXXV. 
Our lives are Thine, we know not how. 
It matters nothing, then or now. 
Or there or here. We know not why, 
Nor can we know who is this I. 
I do not know that I can die. 

XXXVI. 

It is the saints who persevere 
And hold the faith not less sincere 
Beyond the gates. Lo, there they keep 
Life's harvest, for death is not sleep, 
But opportunity to reap. 



pagp ^mmt^'tma 



Srattfittufl itt ICur^m 

XXXVII. 
TiTROM Thee descend the flowers and birds, 

The snows and dawns and living words, 
The clouds that sail across the blue, 
The trees and every form and hue. 
Lo, from Thy soul, she came to view! 

XXXVIII. 

Before this time had spread its wings, 
In times and times before these things. 
In times unto the never-last. 
The soul, unwavering through the vast. 
Each future founds on all the past. 

XXXIX. 

Ah, God of love, beyond all dreams. 
The memory of a loved one seems ! 
Through whom, by life itself, we know 
The goal to which we mean to go. 
But oh, the time, it paceth slow! 

XL. 

In death, they counsel with the King 

And rest from some lone wandering. 

Eternity all time upbears. 

Infinity all spaces shares. 

Inward and out, each soul fares. 

W. E. C. 

Wakefield, R. I. 
pOj^ 2IttiPrttiJ-tiyrPP November, 1908 



T^M writing to you, dear heart, 

As in times of long ago ; 
When for a day, one went away. 

And the other longed to know 
The smallest thought of the comrade,— 

I miss you now as then, 
But gone is the old, light fluency bold 

That used to guide the pen. 

The colors of a sunset. 

The dawn of another day. 
The slim, new moon, a wild bird's tune. 

All told me what to say. 
But now these seem so little 

Beside the great world's strife. 
The fluttering breath that we call death, 

The agony of life. 



L B C 

Washington,* 1907 



Pttg? {Tmnttg-four 



WOKE the roses in her pale, sweet face 
That blushed at sight of mine before a trace 
Of the rich beauty that enthralls me now 
Was visible in lip or cheek or brow. 
I was the first to call her " fair." 
My ardent word the whole world heard; 
Then gazing on the woman there, 
One whispered to another, " She is fair." 

I stirred her mind, and she went forth to learn 

Of life on what its issues turn. 

Then rose resolve to see all things anew; 

And oh ! what charm and grace within her grew. 

I was the first to call her "wise." 

My earnest word the whole world heard; 

And seeing her mysterious eyes. 

One whispered to another, " She is wise ! " 

I found her soul, the eager soul of youth. 
Adorned in robes of purity and truth. 
So innocent, she part remembered heaven, 
And sinless, prayed, "Be all my sins forgiven!" 
' I was the first to call her "good." 
My ample word the whole world heard. 
No more they looked but understood. 
They said, " How fair she is, and wise, and good ! " 

L. B. C. 
Worcester, Mass. 

pas^ ©tnmtg-fiti* 1896 



'5iffROM youth, he trod life's frozen ways 
In weariness and felt the cold ; 

Yet thoughts of future summer da)rs 
Lent hope uf)on the lonely wold. 

But when he reached the summerland 
And life its dearest joys revealed, 

Alas! he could not understand 

The blessed message it would yield. 

The splendid sunshine was too bright. 

His eyes were dimmed by unshed tears. 

They could not face the radiant light 
After the mist and gloom of years. 

The fragrant air, the children's songs, 

The brook's refrain and warblers sweet 

But bade him say, — " To me belongs 
The memory of the snow and sleet. 

"Ah, summerland! There is no power 
By which a man forgets the past. 

In me still lives the bleakest hour 

Of struggle in the winter's blast.'* 



L. B- C 

Bloomfield, N.J. 
1902 



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So. NoRWALK, Conn. 



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